Apocalyptic
by fearlessgoddess2
Summary: SPN/X-Files Crossover. My Bloody Valentine tag. Mulder runs into Dean.


**Note: To anyone who would ask if I might use this as a lead-in to something else, yup, as soon as I decide on what I'm going to do, I will. :)**

**Apocalyptic**

Special Agent Mulder thanked the slightly shaken woman for her statement before giving her his card, noting that she should call him should she remember any details. He turned toward the crowd that was staring and murmuring conspiracy theories, glancing back toward the diner before heading over to his partner, who was finishing up taking a statement from another bystander. Halfway to her, however, he slowed to a stop.

Mulder's eyebrows twitched slightly at the sight of the familiar blonde-haired young man evenly taking in the sight. Pursing his lips, Mulder continued over to Scully, briefly touching her shoulder. "I'll be right back," he told her. Scully nodded, continuing with her interview as Mulder turned back to where he'd seen the man, narrowing his eyes in annoyance at the fact that he'd vanished. He made his way across the parking lot and to the barriers, thanking the civilians that parted to let him through.

Scanning the area, Mulder's eyes landed on a bench outside a convenience store across the street, where the young man was sitting, reading a newspaper. He glanced both ways as he headed over, taking a seat beside him. "It's Dean, right?" he asked, leaving out that he now knew the young man's last name.

Dean nodded, though he didn't move his gaze from the paper. "Yeah."

"This up your alley? That why you're here?"

"Yeah, definitely up our alley," Dean muttered. He sighed before finally looking over to Mulder. "This one's taken care of."

Mulder narrowed his gaze. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means I doubt you're gonna find anyone or anything responsible for what went down here, and I wanted you to know that's cause it's already dead," Dean said quietly. "Sam and I were driving by on our way out of town and spotted Scully. I just…wanted to let you know."

Mulder stared at Dean tensely for a long moment. "There are over a dozen bodies in there, most apparently suicides, and five that need to be autopsied since there is no apparent cause of death. To say this is a serious case is a major understatement, so you know I still have to do my job to the best of my capabilities."

"Ya."

"So I'm gonna do everything I was gonna do before. Come to whatever conclusions I come to."

"Yup."

"So the only thing that's changed is how well I sleep at night when I…eventually _don't_ solve this case?" Mulder asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Dean averted his gaze, looking over the crowd. "Mulder…I don't know what you're gonna find in that restaurant, but…." He paused, swallowing hard, and Mulder examined his demeanor, fascinated by it.

"You're scared," Mulder murmured.

"Damn straight," Dean responded. "I'd be a moron not to be."

"Of what?" he asked quietly. Mulder was mystified at what could have a man like the one sitting next to him genuinely unnerved.

Dean let out a long breath and turned back to Mulder. "There's a war going on right now," he told the agent, his voice dangerously low. "And this isn't some Middle East IEDs and automatic weapons shit. This is apocalyptic. It's way above my pay grade, above Sam's pay grade, but we're right to the middle of it. I can't tell you much, but what I can tell you is that we're doing our damndest to keep people safe." He paused. "The ones in there…well, we can't save everyone."

Mulder stared at Dean some more. "That all you're gonna tell me?"

"Pretty much. Partly cause I want to leave with you not thinking I'm insane," Dean said, absently scratching the back of his neck. "Hopefully we'll be able to stop this from getting genocidal, but Sam and I have been reaching out to anyone we might be able to count on if the shit really hits the fan." Dean took a piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it to Mulder, who read the name _Bobby _and a phone number. "You call that number if you run into anything out of your league, all right? We got some friends in high places that might be able to help."

Still baffled, Mulder gave Dean a single nod. "All right," he muttered. "I gotta tell you, though, not much I consider out of my league. Usually the FBI throws me the cases where other agents were out of _their_ league."

Dean raised half his mouth in a wry smile. "That's what I figured. Trust me, if you need to call us…you'll know. You're one of the few feebs I've ever met that I give some credit, so just keep your eyes peeled and your ears open. That's all I can ask." At that, he folded his newspaper, tucking it in his jacket as he left. "Good luck," he tossed over his shoulder.

Mulder grunted a reply, unsure of what he could say in response to the small speech. He looked back to the number in his hand, staring at it for a while before saving it in his cell and shoving the paper into his jacket pocket.

**THE END**


End file.
